


Medical Intervention

by illuminatedcities



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Coming Untouched, F/M, M/M, Medical Kink, Prostate Massage, Prostate Milking, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-07
Updated: 2015-12-07
Packaged: 2018-05-05 11:26:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5373611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/illuminatedcities/pseuds/illuminatedcities
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“How do you feel about prostate massage?“ John asks cheerfully.</p><p>Harold doesn‘t even blink. “I don‘t consider myself well-educated enough in the field of medicine to answer that question with any authority,“ he says.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Medical Intervention

**Author's Note:**

> Ages ago, nightwolfslair and I had a discussion about the medical benefits of prostate massage, as one does, and she suggested that if John would ever get his hands on an article that proposed prostate milking as a medical intervention, Harold would probably have a few... interesting weeks after that. Then Dana mentioned the prompt “strictly platonic therapeutic rimming” to me, and... well. Things escalated quickly from there. 
> 
> Thanks to Sky & Dana for beta! <333

“This is not happening,” Dr. Greene mutters, ducking behind the filing cabinet. John lunges up, kneecaps one of their attackers and then crouches down next to her to reload.

“I can‘t die today, you know.“ Her blonde hair has come loose from her bun and her glasses are slightly askew.

“You‘re not dying, I promise,“ John says. “Do you have many angry ex-patients that are affiliated with the Russian mob?“

Dr. Greene‘s laugh is slightly hysterical. “I really don‘t see how it‘s my fault that he didn‘t mention taking medication for erectile dysfunction when he was hospitalized for a MI,“ she mutters. “I am pretty sure they told him that nitrates and Viagra don‘t mix very well.“

A glass frame shatters next to them. John counts two more: he aims and takes the right one out.

“I am a good doctor, you know? Basically all I ever do is work, I don't even have time for a cat,“ she blurts. “But this can‘t be the last thing I ever work on, I mean it.“

John gives her a look. “What are you working on?“

“A study about the medical benefits of prostate massage,“ Dr. Greene mutters.

John tilts his head.

“I know what you‘re thinking, this is pseudo-medical bullshit and the results for prostatitis in big studies were inconclusive,“ she says, pushing her glasses up her nose.

John chuckles. “Not really what I was thinking, actually.“

She makes a distressed noise. “I can‘t be the doctor who died while investigating prostate massage, okay? If this proves worthwhile, it could be a prevention strategy for prostate cancer, but I don‘t want to be the dead lady doctor who had her finger up a lot of butts.“

The last guy collects his buddy off the floor and limps out with him, escaping down the staircase. John gets to his feet and touches his earpiece. “Hey, Lionel, there‘s a bunch of mob henchmen limping towards you. They should come out of the front door any minute.“

Lionel huffs. “Thanks for letting me do the actual work again, superhero.“

John grins. “You're very welcome, Lionel.” He turns to Dr. Greene with a beatific smile, holding out a hand to help her up. “See, all fine.“

She takes his outstretched hand and gets to her feet, blinking at him in a moment of confusion before throwing her arms around his neck. “How can I ever pay you back?“ she asks. The sharp corner of her name tag digs into John‘s chest. John pats her back through her white coat.

“I could think of something, actually.“

\--

The lube has a distinctively antiseptic smell, but John doesn‘t mind. Dr. Greene has him bent over her examination table with his pants and boxers pulled down, calmly narrating the medical facts.

“The prostate is about walnut-sized when healthy, and produces an alkaline, milky liquid that is part of the seminal fluid.“

She wears latex gloves when she touches him, probing his entrance. “Many men are reminded of their digital rectal examination by this procedure, but the process is not quite the same. When done correctly, prostate stimulation can be quite pleasurable.“

“Yeah, I know,“ John says, shifting on his stomach. There was a time in his life when he picked up guys in gay bars and took them home for a night: not for the sex, mostly, even though he didn‘t mind that part. John isn‘t opposed to being fucked, but he isn‘t exactly craving it, either. The best part came after, having a warm body to curl up with, seeking skin-on-skin. John usually left after a while, not wanting to make himself vulnerable by falling asleep with somebody in the bed next to him. Best way to catch a bullet or a knife to the side, if you ask him.

“Experienced, then,“ Dr. Greene says behind him. She taps her finger lightly against the tight ring of muscle. “Relax as much as you can, please.“

John takes a deep breath and makes a conscious effort to loosen his muscles and go pliant for her.

“There you go,“ she mutters, pleased. “It‘s very important to use proper lubrication when doing this, and to do it carefully. Sexual arousal can be a beneficial factor, as you probably know.“ He can hear the smile in her voice.

Her gloved finger slides in, stretching the sphincter, opening him up. He‘s not hard, but the sensation isn‘t off-putting, so he lets himself relax into it.

“It‘s more difficult to do this for yourself. A prostate stimulator might be helpful, in that case, there are a variety of special toys that exist for just that purpose.“

“Do they teach this in med school?” John asks.

She has a nice laugh, unguarded, like she finds her own amusement surprising. “Sorry to disappoint, but this would be advanced material, way beyond med school curriculum.” She changes the angle a bit, moving her finger in small circles. “Spread your legs a little more, please.”

John does, giving her more room to work. Her free hand touches his thigh briefly, the feeling of the latex glove against his skin oddly clinical. “Using a vibrator can enhance the sensations, actually, you might want to try it sometime.”

“I‘m actually thinking about doing it for a friend. He keeps missing his doctor‘s appointments,” John says. He has made sure that his earpiece is turned off for now. No reason to spoil the surprise.

Dr. Greene laughs again. She is handling the stress of getting shot at in her own practice only half an hour ago surprisingly well. “Not a very big fan of the medical profession, your friend?“

“Just a very private person,“ John says, drawing in a sharp breath when the tip of her finger slides in deeper and hits a sensitive spot.

“Lucky guy, that friend of yours.“ She adjusts the angle a little more, and the pressure intensifies. “Ah yes, there we go.“

To John's surprise, it doesn‘t feel like being fucked at all. The way the tip of her finger presses against John‘s prostate makes him think that he should probably visit the restroom, even though he can't remember his bladder being that full.

“Relax, this isn‘t the good part yet,“ Dr. Greene says. She keeps circling her finger slightly, and then, suddenly, John can feel the pressure building inside of him.

It feels good enough that John pushes back against her hand, wanting more. Dr. Greene curls her finger and presses down, and fuck, that works, too: John can feel his cock twitching when thick, white liquid comes out in spurts. It‘s not quite like coming, not the breathless rush of it. John feels like a slow, steady stream of pleasure is pulsing through him, and he clenches down on her finger, riding it out.

Oddly enough, his cock is still soft. When he is done, making a pleased little sigh, Dr. Greene carefully withdraws her finger and cleans him up with a paper towel.

“Milking of the prostate cleans it from calcifications and can reduce pain and swelling, and promote overall prostate health“, she says cheerfully, as if giving a keynote speech at a medical congress.

“Ngh,“ John says, managing to sit up. “Sounds healthy.“

She takes off her gloves and throws them into the trashcan. “It is,“ she says, smiling. “Regular prostate massage is recommended, as medical therapy or an addition to patient‘s sex life. Our most recent data suggests that it might even help to prevent prostate cancer, which, well. Would make me the 'lady who prevents cancer‘ instead of 'the weird butt lady'.“

She leans down to give him a quick, dry kiss on the lips. “Thanks for saving my life, Mr. ...?“

He grins. “After what you just did, you get to call me John.“ She blushes a little. It suits her.

John leaves a business card of one of his aliases on the counter when he leaves.

–

When he gets back to the library, Harold is sitting at his desk, typing away. He looks up when John walks in.

“Mr. Reese. You went offline for a while, did everything go well with Dr. Greene?“

“Sure, just peachy,“ John says. Bear runs to him, nosing at his hand, butting his head against John‘s leg. “Can I talk to you about something?“

“Just a second,“ Harold says. John watches the open tabs on Harold‘s screen close one after the other. Harold is typing up complicated lines of code without any obvious effort, if anything, he looks bored: regular maintenance work on his identities probably, maybe he's writing an operating system that doesn't challenge him at all.

After a while, he says: “Yes, John?“ and turns around in his chair to face John.

“How do you feel about prostate massage?“ John asks cheerfully.

Harold doesn‘t even blink. “I don‘t consider myself well-educated enough in the field of medicine to answer that question with any authority,“ he says.

John draws up a chair and sits down next to him. “Look, I talked to Dr. Greene, and apparently, there are many medical benefits to regular prostate massage.“

Harold‘s eyebrows move in that way they do when he thinks someone is being patently ridiculous in front of him. “Well, what a good thing for modern urology, I suppose.“

“Well, I thought, since prevention is important and at a certain age, medical problems --“

“At a certain _age_?“ Harold asks, his voice rising in pitch on the last word.

This is not going well at all. “I just meant, maybe you‘d benefit from, uh. Preventive measures,“ John says.

“I will not visit a doctor to get my prostate massaged, thank you very much for the suggestion, Mr. Reese.“ With that, Harold turns back to his workstation.

John tries one last approach. “You wouldn‘t have to,“ John says, trying for his best reassuring smile. “You could get it here, I could do it.“

Harold gives him a look of pure disbelief. “I think not,“ he says. His hands come up to the keyboard again, and more windows open up on the screen. One looks suspiciously similar to an official DoD website.

“Oh,“ John says, sitting back in his chair. “Okay, then. I‘ll get going, I think. Come on, Bear.“

He whistles through his teeth and Bear comes running. John makes it all the way outside, Bear trotting along, before leaning against the wall. John wonders why it feels like his rib cage has gotten too small for him.

\--

The next morning, John brings Harold a cup of sencha green and a cinnamon roll from the bakery two blocks away, and Harold gives him a brief exposé of their new number and sends John on his way.

It‘s a simple mission, really, a teenager who got into trouble with local drug dealers. John ties them up neatly and deposits them in front of the police station, gives the kid a stern talking to and sends him off, and then makes his way back to the library. He picks up Thai from a tiny place that Harold likes, and walks into the library in a pretty good mood.

As soon as he gets in, Harold limps past him, carrying a stack of books. “We need to talk, Mr. Reese,“ he says.

John frowns. He puts the bags down and follows Harold into the maze of bookshelves.

“Would you put that down under “Astrophysics“, please?“ Harold asks, handing John a book heavy as a brick.

John complies, putting the book away. When he returns, he stands next to Harold, steeling himself.

“I have been thinking about the suggestion you made,“ Harold says. He is straightening a perfectly neat line of books. “Or, more to the point, about your reaction to my dismissal of the idea.“

John grits his teeth. “It‘s fine, Harold, it was just a suggestion.“

Harold turns around to him, and being the center of his focus makes John feel like there‘s a desk lamp shining into his face during an interrogation, KGB-style.

“Was it, now?“ Harold asks. He doesn‘t sound like he believes it. “You seemed rather taken aback when I said no.“

With some effort, John shrugs, avoiding Harold‘s gaze. “Yeah, it was a pretty stupid idea.“

Harold has that look on his face that he gets while pondering a particularly challenging software problem. “Mr. Reese, are you aware what you were asking?“

John huffs. “It‘s not that embarrassing, Harold, it‘s a medical procedure, basically.“

Harold‘s eyebrows shoot up. “Did it feel very medical to you then, yes?“

John can‘t breathe. “Did you _watch_ me?“ He asks.

Harold makes an impatient _“Yes, yes, try to catch up“_ \- gesture with his hand. “You went offline directly after a firefight, I hacked the building‘s cameras to make sure that you were alright.“

“I said that I was fine,“ John says through gritted teeth.

“You say that rather convincingly under excruciatingly painful torture,“ Harold snaps. “Please forgive me if I wanted to make sure.“

John crosses his hands over his chest. “What I do with my free time is my business.“

“It is. But if your desire to have sex is prompting you to make bad decisions in the field --“

“I didn‘t make a bad decision, I was done with the mission, and it‘s not like I had sex with her on the exam table --“

“-- I‘d rather you have it with me, if that‘s what you want.“

John feels like somebody hit him over the head with a baseball bat. “You‘d rather _what_ , now?“ He asks intelligently.

Harold gives him a mildly reproachful glance. “I doubt that you were merely suggesting a medical intervention, Mr. Reese. Either you go through with what you actually have to say, or we drop the issue and never speak of it again.“

John‘s throat is very dry when he swallows. He _was_ merely suggesting a medical intervention, but that was before Harold brought up sex and gave John a very distinctive visual of having John kneel between Harold's legs, letting John finger him. Coming is nice, and cuddling up with someone after is even nicer, but this is Harold. John never thought that Harold would _want_ to. “Would you like to sleep with me?“ He asks. He can‘t believe that this is happening.

Harold‘s face is unreadable for a moment, then the corner of his mouth twitches and he grabs John by the lapels of his jacket and pulls him close. The aim is a little off, so John ends up kissing the corner of Harold‘s mouth. Then he gets his hand against Harold‘s cheek, keeping him in place, and they meet easily: the warm press of Harold‘s mouth against his, Harold‘s surprisingly strong hands holding on to his jacket, tugging him closer.

“Back room,“ Harold says, gratifyingly out of breath.

John smiles and steals another kiss before following along.

They are barely back inside before Harold‘s hands are roaming his body, slipping beneath the fabric of his jacket. “I like this suit, although I was always tempted to redo the inseam. The pants are too tight,“ Harold murmurs, pulling John down with a hand against his neck and placing possessive kisses against John‘s throat.

John chuckles. “Are they?“

Harold‘s free hand slides around John‘s middle, then moves down to cup his ass. John inhales sharply, pressing himself closer against Harold. “They are terribly distracting,“ Harold adds. “As was your suggestion for performing a medical intervention on me.“

John undoes the buttons on Harold‘s vest, but his hands won‘t quite cooperate: the little buttons keep sliding back through the buttonholes, rendering his efforts useless.

Harold sighs and lets go of him to do it himself, one-handed, and John kisses him hungrily, impatient. John moves back to get undressed down to his underwear and sit down on the bed. Harold joins him, lying down, so that John can cover Harold‘s body with his, try to touch everywhere at once.

Harold is still wearing his boxers, but John can see his cock straining against the fabric, a dark wet spot of precome staining the silk. John doesn‘t waste any time: he pulls down Harold‘s underwear and puts his hands against Harold‘s thighs, thumbs stroking the skin.

“This would be a good time to mention that it has been a while for me,“ Harold says from above, his voice a bit unsteady. It is very much at odds with the confident way he talked to John earlier, sounding completely certain about the options.

John kisses Harold‘s belly. “That‘s okay,“ he says, “I can take care of you, if you want.“

Harold takes a sharp breath, then his hand is in John‘s hair, petting his head. John sighs.

“I should mention that my experience with sex is, well, limited, and I never --“ He blushes at that. John kisses his hip, noses into the soft pubic hair. “I never slept with a man,“ Harold says above him.

John looks up at him, searching his expression for any signs of doubt.

“I want to,“ Harold says quickly, earnestly. “I just wanted you to know.“

John nods. His throat is a little tight. “Thank you, Harold,“ he says. Then he puts his mouth on Harold‘s cock, letting his tongue slide over the head, and Harold groans.

John watches for his reactions, every slight change in Harold‘s breathing pattern, the way his hand tightens in John‘s hair. After a while, John lets Harold‘s cock slip out of his mouth and moves lower. He finds a pillow to slide under Harold‘s hips.

“John, what are you --“ Harold says above him, and then John puts his mouth on him, licking him, and Harold‘s whole body jerks.

“Oh god,“ he groans, letting his head fall back against the pillow. The movement of his hips is limited, but he still manages to rock himself forward against John‘s mouth, a steady stream of soft noises coming out of his mouth.

“John, oh, please,“ Harold says, shuddering.

John can feel the tremors running through Harold's body with every flick of his tongue against sensitive skin.

“John, please, I need,“ Harold manages. His voice breaks on the words.

John produces a bottle of lube, squeezes plenty into his palm and carefully applies it to Harold's opening, his finger pressing inside. Harold hisses at the slick cold against his skin.

“You could warn a man,“ he mutters, sounding a little more like himself.

“Where's the fun in that?“ John asks. He closes his other hand around Harold's cock, stroking him lightly.

Harold whimpers, his hips jerking up as much as they can. He is very hard in John's hand, and John has no doubt that he is close, barely stopping himself from falling apart.

John's finger slides in easily, but John still adds more lube, giving Harold plenty of time to adjust.

“Does this feel okay so far?“ He asks, leaning down to kiss the tip of Harold's cock, still stroking him.

The sounds that come out of Harold's mouth only barely resemble English. John smiles against the warm skin of Harold's thigh. His finger slides in easily, and it doesn't take long until he has found the swell of Harold's prostate.

“Oh,” Harold says. His hand slides into John's hair, nails grazing John's scalp. “ _John,_ ” he groans, his cock twitching in John's hand.

John does the little circular motion with his finger that felt so good when Dr. Greene did it to him. He'd like to suck Harold off while he's at it, but the angle is better like this, and he can concentrate on what he's doing with his hand without getting distracted.

Harold is beautifully incoherent beneath him. His hand slides down John's throat to clench on John's shoulder, fingernails digging in. It's a thrilling loss of control for Harold, and John presses his finger deeper inside.

“It's okay, Harold, you can let go,” John mumbles.

Harold's glasses are fogged up and his hair is sticking up at all kinds of weird angles. John circles the head of Harold's cock with his thumb, spreading the mess of precome there. Harold is clenching around his finger, whimpering, and then John presses down against his prostate again and Harold is gone, spilling over John's hand and his own stomach.

John leans down for a taste, licking Harold clean. He half-expects Harold to shove him off, too sensitive so soon after coming, but Harold just sighs deeply and unclenches his hand where it has been cramping down on John's shoulder.

John licks at Harold's stomach when Harold tugs at his hair, pulling him up for a kiss. John comes willingly, covering Harold's body with his own. He feels happy, accomplished, not minding his own erection one bit where it is pressed up against Harold's warm thigh.

He made Harold feel _good_ , he really doesn't know what else he could ask for.

“Hmh, let me,” Harold says, sounding dazed, and then his hand reaches down to cup John through his boxers.

“You don't have to – _oh_ , “ John says. He suddenly has an idea of what to ask for. He pushes himself up on his arms so he won't crush Harold with his weight, giving him more room to work in the process.

Harold makes a soft humming sound and slides his hand under the elastic of John's underwear. At the first touch of skin on skin, John is panting, his hips jerking on their own accord. Harold pulls down the fabric and gets a good grip on his cock, letting John thrust into the tight circle of his thumb and fingers.

“Fuck,” John gasps, burying his face against Harold's throat.

“Like this?” Harold asks, stroking his hand up and down John's cock in time with John's thrusting.

John tries to say something, but all that comes out is a low whine. He is fucking into Harold's grip harder, faster, Harold's fingers around him slick with the precome that's dripping from John's cock.

“Does it feel good like this?” Harold asks. His voice sounds rough. “You've been so good for me, John, I'd like to make you come.”

“Don't stop,” John says through gritted teeth. He doesn't even know what he means: for Harold to keep stroking him, to keep talking to him, to stay right _there._

“Let me take care of you,” Harold says, softly enough that it makes John ache, and John thrusts into Harold's tight grip two more times before he shudders and comes with Harold holding him, Harold's voice in his ear.

After, John sprawls in the bed like an overly large cat, affectionately nuzzling Harold's jaw.

Harold falls asleep in an instant, and John takes off his glasses and deposits them on the nightstand before pulling the blanket up over him. John settles in with his chest pressed against Harold's back. He is too wound up to sleep, so he just keeps stroking Harold's arms, kissing his neck.

When Harold regains consciousness a good twenty minutes later, he blinks dazedly for a moment before turning his head to look at John. “Ah, yes,” he says thoughtfully, fishing for his glasses and phone on the bedside table.

John uses the opportunity to kiss Harold's shoulder blades, the length of his spine.

Harold leans back, head pillowed on John's chest, checking something on his phone for a while.

“The data seems to be inconclusive,” he says, frowning. “I'm not sure Dr. Greene has a scientific basis for her theory, the recent studies seem to suggest --”

“So what you're saying,” John mumbles, kissing Harold's temple, “is that further investigation is in order to see if this whole prostate massage thing has a health benefit?”

Harold puts away his phone and sits up in bed so he can look down at John. His usual intimidating gaze is softened by his chaotic hair and the hickey on his throat.

“Scientific work requires devotion and stamina, Mr. Reese,” he says. His hand is resting over John's half-hard cock.

John shivers delightfully. “You're suggesting a long-term study, then,” he says.

The slide of Harold's palm against his cock makes John gasp. Harold's smile is unbearably smug.

“I'll have you know that prevention is important and at a certain _age_ , medical problems --”

John kisses him before he can go on. He'd rather have a practical demonstration than a lecture.

– FIN

 

**Author's Note:**

> As a medical aside: this is a work of fiction, and according to a quick PubMed research, there currently is no data supporting the claim that regular prostate massage reduces the risk of prostate cancer. Sorry, Dr. Greene. (Also, please don't take any medical advice from the internet. Seriously, have you seen the internet lately? Go see a real-life doctor if you have any health issues you'd like to have addressed. Duh.)


End file.
